


Rockstar

by xXdreameaterXx



Series: Arrows of Eros [10]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Tumblr prompt: I write for a small magazine and I'm interviewing you, a famous singer, for an article while pretending to work for another magazine but I can't look away from you. How am I supposed to write about you now? Rockstar!Doctor & Journalist!Clara</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rockstar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodsired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsired/gifts).



> I don't know who gave me that prompt since I've recently cleaned out my inbox but on my list this one was definitely marked down. I hope whoever it was enjoys it even though I've changed the original prompt at a little. The smut wasn't exactly intentional but I got a bit carried away.

Clara took a long, deep breath. It would be fine. Everything would be absolutely fine. She was only going to meet her idol, her favourite musician, her secret celebrity crush every since she was 16 and she was only going to lie to him. Yes, everything would be just fine. Clara rang the door bell and a few seconds later the intercom sprang to life.  
“Are you Clara Oswald from the Rolling Stone magazine?” a husky voice said on the other end and she immediately recognized him. The Doctor. His voice alone was enough to make her tingle with excitement. In all the wrong places.  
“Yep. That's me,” Clara lied, sounding a lot more nervous than she would have thought. She wasn't working for the Rolling Stone, that was just what she had told his manager on the phone to get the interview. Truth be told, she was working for a small indie magazine called MusicMe and even she had to admit that it sounded stupid. A rockstar like the Doctor would never even consider giving an interview to a magazine with a silly name like _MusicMe_.  
“Hang on, I'll open the- _ouch_ ,” he cursed, hissing as if he was in pain and paused for a moment, “Sorry, I'll open the gate. You can come in.”  
When Clara turned towards the gate she heard a click and it sprang open, allowing her to step behind the walls that shielded his mansion from view. And what a mansion it was. Large, white, with a beautifully tended garden that Clara admired more with every step that led her though it. Once she had reached the front door she noticed that it was only left ajar and after a knock she carefully stepped inside into darkness.  
“Hello?!” she called into the dark.  
“Ugh, not so loud,” the Doctor grumbled from a room to her left, “Come in and close the fucking door.”

Her foot hit an object as she progressed into the direction of the voice and Clara noticed quite a few beer bottles on the floor along with other rubbish and discarded clothes. The air reeked of alcohol and smoke. There had definitely been a party going on last night.  
Quietly she entered a living room and the little light coming in from between the blinds illuminated a disastrous mess and the Doctor was lying in the middle of it, sprawled out on the sofa, naked except for his underpants and a black holey jumper that he was using to cover his face. Clara swallowed hard when she let her gaze wander over his body. Damn, he looked even better than in her fantasies of him. Pale and lean and with just a trace of muscle. And then of course there was the very obvious bulge in his kind of tight underpants that sent the heat pooling between her thighs.  
_God, Clara, cut it out_ , she told herself, trying to regain control over her not so innocent thoughts.  
“Sorry,” the Doctor apologized, not moving from his lying position, “Bit of a hangover.”  
“If this is a bad time I could come back later,” Clara suggested, not knowing what else to say.  
“Nah, it's fine,” the Doctor replied, reaching for the jumper and pulling it away from his face before he sat up almost straight and looked at her. The last part seemed to take him a moment and he blinked at her a couple of time while Clara granted him a shy smile, “Sorry, either hungover or still drunk. Can't decide. _You're_ the journalist?”  
“Yep, that's me. Clara Oswald from the-”  
“You're not from the Rolling Stone,” he stated simply as if it was obvious, “They don't have journalists that pretty.”  
Clara was ready to frown at him.  
“Young, I mean,” he slapped his forehead, “I was going to say young. Sorry. Hangover.”  
She could do nothing but stand there, shuffling her feet nervously in front of the almost naked Doctor. He had figured her out and he would ask her to leave in just a few seconds so she better made her time with him count.  
“Looks like there has been some party here last night,” Clara commented.  
“You can say that again,” he replied and suddenly started patting the sofa next to him, “Why don't you sit down, tell me what magazine you really work for and then we can start this interview.”  
“You-,” Clara paused in disbelief, “You still want to do the interview even though I lied to you?”  
The Doctor shrugged. “Well, you're here now. I already kind of confessed I find you pretty. What I can say? Even a famous rockstar has a weakness.”  
He smiled at her, that lovely smile that was almost a smirk and has so far adorned many covers of many magazines and it made Clara's knees grow weak. Quickly she sat down next to him even though she kept a little more distance between them than she would have liked.  
“MusicMe,” she replied eventually.  
“I'm sorry?” the Doctor asked, looking at her is if he had taken her answer for an ambiguous offer.  
“That's the name. MusicMe. It's a small indie magazine,” Clara confessed, “I'm sorry I lied to you and your manager. I didn't think he would give me the interview otherwise.”  
The Doctor giggled. “Quite right. You're a clever one, Clara Oswald. So, ask away.”  
Clara felt a little confused when he suddenly bent forward but her confusion was lifted when he retrieved tobacco from under the sofa and started rolling a cigarette. As if in trance she watched his hands move around with a grace that she had so far only seen on him while playing his guitar. It took her a moment to realize that the Doctor had now finished making the cigarette, discarded it, and that he was staring at her staring at him.  
“Oh, yes, the questions,” Clara said nervously, retrieving her phone from her pocket and started the recording, “Uhm, what inspires you to write a song?”  
The Doctor smirked at her. “You.”  
Ignoring how much her pulse increased Clara paused the recording again. “Please, if you don't want to do the interview, just say so. Don't make me jump through unnecessary hoops.”  
He licked his lips and leaned back on the sofa, again making Clara all too aware of how little he was actually wearing. He was practically putting himself on display and if his intention had been to mess with her mind he was definitely succeeding. The Doctor parted his legs just a little and raised his arms to his head, tousling his already wild hair a little more before resting his hands in his neck.  
“I'm only answering truthfully. I'll definitely write a song about you, Clara Oswald,” the Doctor replied sincerely.  
Finally Clara tore his gaze away from him, hiding how much she was blushing and laughing nervously. “Okay, but generally, what inspires you to write a song?”  
“I could write about your dark eyes and your lovely hair, those cute little dimples when you smile. About how much I would like to taste those lips,” he barely even whispered that last part, his voice husky and dark as he leaned closer and Clara could feel his breath hot on her skin.  
She cleared her throat and quickly scooted over, a little further away from him in an attempt to escape her own arousal. Right next to her was the Doctor, a famous rockstar, practically naked and hitting on her. Clara wanted nothing more than to jump him right then and there – until the interview came back to her mind.  
“So, erm, are there any new projects you're working on at the moment? A new studio album perhaps?” she asked, trying to sound matter-of-factly but failed miserably at that.  
“No,” the Doctor replied, “But there is something else I wouldn't mind working on.”  
He raised his hand over her thigh, letting his fingertips wander up step by step until they had reached the hemline of her skirt. She let out a gasp when he slid his hand between her legs, teasing her through the fabric of her already damp knickers.  
“The interview,” she croaked, trying to make him see reason but at the same time she spread her legs a little further apart for him. The sizzling hot, burning feeling between her thighs was growing and when she opened to eyes to look at him she realized that it wasn't the only thing. Under the thin fabric of his underpants she saw the defined outline of his erection that was only waiting to plunge inside of her.  
“I'll answer every single question that you have and more,” he promised, his dark voice coming closer to her ear, “But right now I have one hell of a headache and I'm so goddamn hard and the only thing that can help with both is either my own hand or what's between your legs. Tell me, which is it today?”  
When Clara turned around to look at him she knew she had lost her mind. She leaned forward and crushed their lips together without thinking and the Doctor was only too eager to kiss her back, biting down on her bottom lip as he did so while pulling her on top of him. Clara pressed herself down against his crotch, feeling the heat of his arousal so distinctively against her own sex even through the clothing that it almost drove her mad. The Doctor's lips left hers only moments later to trail down her throat, a moan escaping her mouth when he sucked a little harder on that spot just above her collarbone. Surely it would leave a mark, something to remember him after she had left his house.  
Suddenly Clara let out a squeal as he bent her over backwards and she held on tight to him while his hand reached for something on the ground behind her. He threw the condom on the sofa next to them before he busied himself with her clothing, pulling her jumper over her head and unhooking her bra as quickly as she had never seen anyone else do before.  
“I wanna be inside of you, Clara Oswald,” he breathed before he kissed her again and she moaned into his mouth, the only response she was capable of at this moment. 

They quickly ridded themselves of the rest of their clothing and a smirk appeared on her lips when she saw his cock spring free.  
“Like what you see?” he asked mischievously and there was no denying that she did. He was big and beautiful and the tingling in her own sex only increased at the thought of riding him. She reached for the condom and unwrapped it unceremoniously before she placed the rubber between her lips and bent down. The Doctor moaned passionately, his hands anchoring at the roots of her hair to hold her exactly where she was and she repeated the movement, slowly sucking his shaft back into her mouth.  
“Oh, don't stop,” he begged but Clara was determined to get something out of this meeting as well. She straddled his lap. “Or that, yes. That's fine, too.”  
Clara reached for his cock and guided him to her entrance. She watched as the Doctor closed his eyes while she slid down on top of him. His hands closed around her, both coming to rest on her hips, ready to guide her when she started to move. Slowly at first, steadily, only just getting used to how big he felt inside of her and how good and how. . .  
“Oh,” she murmured once his whole length was inside of her, filling her up completely.  
“D'ya like it?” the Doctor asked breathlessly, beginning to move to meet her rhythm.  
“Yes,” Clara replied cause everything else would have been a lie. She was loving it, increasing their speed a little, driving herself down on top of him, “Fuck yes.”  
It was anything but what she had expected to do during the interview but, God, did he feel good as he used his hand to push her down onto his steel hard cock while the other had found its way to her clit, rubbing at the same increasing pace, prompting her to grind against it.  
“Fuck, you're so wet, Clara Oswald,” he groaned as he thrust up inside her a little harder now, “I want you to come for me.”  
“Yes,” she keened as he plunge a little deeper still, hitting that spot that made her moan his name right before he moved out of her almost completely just so they could repeat the movement over and over, the friction of it almost driving her wild as she rode him mercilessly. She was propping herself up against his chest, the sweat starting to glisten on his skin, making it hard for her to find something to hold on to.  
Clara dug her nails into his skin and it made the Doctor cry out.  
“Can't. . . much longer,” he panted, losing control over their rhythm just like she was while the bittersweet pleasure of her orgasm was beginning to build up inside of her. And then, when he thrust into her again it took over and crashed over her body like a wave while he filled her up, the sweetness of it almost utterly overwhelming. Only in the back of her mind was she aware of how he whimpered beneath her when she clenched her walls around him and he came before his movements stilled completely.  
“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly as she removed herself from him and sank down on the sofa. He discarded the used condom by throwing it with the rest of the rubbish of last night's party. And then the Doctor burst into laughter. “That was a lovely interview.”  
Clara frowned at him. “Hey, you said you'd give me all the answers afterwards. Don't you dare breaking that promise now,” she said angrily.  
Still the Doctor laughed. “Don't you worry, Clara Oswald,” he bent forward and placed a swift kiss to her lips, “I won't leave you hanging but I do need a shower first. Or do you want me to talk about what an amazing fuck you are all through your questions?”  
“I suppose not,” Clara replied with a small shrug.  
Suddenly the Doctor's eyes were back on her, scanning her from head to toe. “Now that I come to think of it. You look like you could do with a shower, too,” he said with a wink, “Shall we?”


End file.
